


Fries

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Mutantstuck [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Mutantstuck, god reaux is such a lil shit i love her, like i feel like that's obvious this time but still, mentioned transphobia, reaux and d are both trans, reunited family shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 15:16:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21273314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Reaux raises an eyebrow, glancing from Roxanne (who hasn't even realized she's just spilled beans you'd rather have safely in the bag) to D (who's not just hiding his reaction but totally clueless; you didn't tell him about this yet) to you. And by normal standards, you've got a decent poker face—but Reaux ain't normal, now is she?The Strilonde siblings reunite for the first time since their parents died, and Ambrose ends up having to explain his plan to keep them all together a bit sooner than he intended.





	Fries

It isn't the first time all four of you are in the same place at the same time, but it's the first you all remember, that's for sure. D 'n Roxanne don't seem to give a shit about the gravity and significance of this lil' occasion—he's halfway through an order of fries, she's snagging them one by one off his plate like one of his precious birds—but Reaux gets it. You can tell she does from the way she's eyeing you, dark and shockingly violet eyes under pale hair that's not just been chopped off but damn near _buzzed._

Looking at that shit pisses you off. She's been talking for weeks in the groupchat about how she's been growing it out, how it'd just gotten long enough to style, how much _better_ it felt—and then her asshole guardians went and did _that_ to her. Makes you wonder if anyone in the goddamn system does one ounce of research before they place kids. 

Then again, you guess you and your siblings don't count as kids anymore for a lot of people. Even if D 'n Reaux have two more years left before they age out (and you 'n Roxanne are a year and a half behind that) you're not exactly managable lil' brats anymore. 

"You're awfully quiet, Ambrose," Reaux points out from across the table. Shit—you've been full-on staring at her for too fuckin' long. At least she doesn't seem all that pissed about it; from the way her lips curve in the space of her carefully-measured pause, she's actually enjoying this. "Penny for your thoughts?" 

D snorts beside you, deftly blocking Roxanne's foray and snatching up the fry she was aiming for himself, using it to gesture at Reaux. "This is _Bro_; he doesn't have any of those." 

The fry breaks in half. You catch the half headed for the table before it gets there, tossing it into your mouth. "Hey, 'scuse you—I was thinkin' about how we've always been hellions." 

"Excuse _you,_ I'm a good kid." 

"Yeah, 'cause I always made sure I'd take the fall." D's a head taller than you but that doesn't exactly matter when you're both sitting down; you reach up and ruffle up his straight white-blond hair, stealing a fry with your free hand as he tries to smack you. _Tries_ is very much the operative word here; as always, you're too fast for him. "Speaking of which? You need a haircut." 

Roxanne laughs and flicks half a fry across the table at you. (Even Reaux smiles when you manage to flick your head to the side just barely fast enough to catch it.) "Says the guy with the grungy ponytail." 

"Only a ponytail today 'cause D said I gotta be formal for this." D put it up for you; some days he'll braid it back instead, but that's more for doctor's appoinments or picking up meds than this kind of shit. He says it makes you look older than you, older than he is, old enough to be doing the kind of shit you do without getting asked why it's you doing it. All the same, you don't particularly like having your hair pulled back away from your face, any more than you like ditching your shades. "Not _my_ fault y'all're heathen with normie hair." 

D sticks out his tongue at you. Roxanne shrugs and runs one hand through her shoulder-length hair, pulling a couple strands in front of her face to examine it thoughtfully, like she's looking for differences between hers and yours. "You got a point there, Bro—I should totally dye mine once we get into the new place." 

"_We_?" Reaux raises an eyebrow, glancing from Roxanne (who hasn't even realized she's just spilled beans you'd rather have safely in the bag) to D (who's not just hiding his reaction but totally clueless; you didn't tell him about this yet) to you. And by normal standards, you've got a decent poker face—but Reaux ain't normal, now is she? "Hm. Would this be a decision between twins, or would you like to share with the rest of the family?" 

Godaamnit. Everyone's looking at you, and not for a reason you meant to create. 

"Ambrose?" D prompts after another couple seconds. "Kinda seems like the ball's in your court right about now, bro." 

"Yeah, 'm _aware_ of that." Unfortunately. There's one lone fry left on the plate; D doesn't even move to stop you from snagging it. Eating it lets you stall for another few seconds, or it would if you didn't talk with your mouth full. "Roxanne 'n me're working on gettin' us all a place." 

D's staring at you, you know he is. You keep your eyes on Reaux, though—Roxanne'll go with your plan, of course she will when she was the one who helped you iron out all the wrinkles in it, but if this shit gets stalemated two votes to two you _will_ back down. It won't be pleasant—you'll fucking _hate_ losing what feels like the only real chance at independence you're ever going to get—but you know you can't talk D into something his twin's against. 

Reaux blinks back at you. It's pretty much the only reaction you get, which sucks because you know you ain't that good at the poker face. "I suppose you've thought about the fact that we'll need to be able to support ourselves?" 

_We. Our._ Good signs. "D's working on some shit—" 

"Bro, holy shit, you know I don't know if any of my pitches are ever gonna be—" 

"—and until he gets that up 'n running, Roxanne 'n me have some hacking 'n web design on the table that'll be enough to keep us all okay for a couple years at least." 

"_Hacking_?" D's voice scales up towards the end of the word, in either outrage or alarm. Maybe both. Probably both. 

Reaux just sighs, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of her nose. "Ambrose, darling, if you say 'Roxanne and _me_' one more time, I intend to test this establishment's acceptable code of conduct by introducing the nearest condiment to whatever part of you would do the most damage." 

You look over at Roxanne. 

"She's gonna smash the ketchup bottle over your head if you keep talking like a hick, Bro." 

"Oh. Shit." 

"You don't do that in texts, you know." Reaux steeples her fingers neatly in front of her face, giving you a winningly smug smile. "We should discuss how you use apparent ignorance as a defensive tactic sometime." 

"Or we could not do that ever, thanks." 

"Can we get back to the hacking thing, y'all?" D has priorities, and the fact that no one else here seeems to share them is obviously not doing a lot for his peace of mind. 

"It's white-hat," you tell him. "Well, mostly." 

"Grey-hat," Roxanne offers. She laughs again at the look you give her, sliding out of her chair and nodding at the counter. "Okay, okay, I'll make it easier on you. D needs more fries anyway." 

Somehow you don't think that abandoning you is quite the sort of help you had in mind here. "I'm not gonna get arrested, D." 

"You totally are. You know I can't bail you out, right?" 

"Roxanne can handle that if she's gotta." You actually had a conversation with her about that, back when you were still splitting your proxies linearly instead of exponentially. "Quit your worrying, alright?" 

D groans and carefully slides his empty plate six inches to the left, making just enough room that he can (more-or-less gently) slam his face down on the table. God, you're glad he remembered to take his shades off when y'all came in. "This is so fucking unfair. My next breakdown isn't scheduled for another two weeks, goddamnit." 

"Yeah, that's when I was plannin' on telling you." He's such a dramatic dumbass. You have to roll your eyes as you reach over to pat his shoulder. "C'mon, man—you wanna get out as bad as I do." 

"Sure, yeah, it'd be great to get away from the deadnaming and not get constantly fuckin' scrutinized and everything, but you can't just—" 

"Oh, we totally can." Roxanne slides another order of fries into the center of the table as she takes her seat again. "What're we doing again?" 

"I suspect you're either manipulating data or forging documents outright," Reaux answers before you can do more than open your mouth. She reaches across the table to capture a few fries before D has a chance to start guarding the whole damn plate again; he raises his head just in time to see what she's doing and pulls a wholly disgusted face at her. "Oh, stop. There's plenty to go around...anyway. I don't suppose you already have the future living arrangements settled?" 

Something about the way she says it pings an alarm in your head. Maybe it's the emotion in her question—less guarded than everything else she's said, halfway between desparation and hope. Maybe it's something on her face. Maybe it's something else, you're not totally sure—but whatever it is, you know the answer Reaux _needs_ is a yes. 

Roxanne's quicker on the uptake than you are. More specific. "Oh shit, Reaux—they kicked you out?" 

That gets a grimace. "Well, _technically_—" 

D growls beside you. Now, _you_ expect that from him, but it startles both of the girls into silence. "Fuckers," he says, soft and scarier than most shit you've ever run up against. "We got you, sis, don't worry. Ambrose?" 

"The apartment ain't gonna be ready 'til next week." You hold up one hand to deflect the glare he gives you. "Don't bite my head off." 

"Give me a reason not to, then." 

"Yeah, well, I'm working on it." Fuck, it's not that easy to think this fast, come up with a whole-ass plan on the spur of the moment, okay? "Aight. Roxanne?" 

"Mhm?" 

"You got IDs for us, right?" 

"Yeah—well, not _on_ me—" 

"That's okay so long as you can get Reaux's to her in the next day or so. D's gonna go home—" 

"Uh, fuck you?" 

"Yeah you are, you gotta cover for me. Roxanne goes home and picks up Reaux's ID. Me 'n Reaux—" 

"Ambrose, for god's sake. _I._ Reaux and _I._" 

Well, at least she didn't hit you over the head with the ketchup. "Alright, fine, Reaux and I are gonna go find a hotel that doesn't take ID at the desk." 

"Send her in alone with a card and have her say her purse got stolen," D interjects. "One of those transfer cards, the kind you send money place to place with; better 'cause it doesn't have a name on it." 

"And it's the sort of thing I'd keep stashed somewhere in case of emergency," Reaux adds. "It's plausible. This is actually going to work." 

You know how she feels, honestly. That vague and almost baffling sense of shock—like, _oh, shit's not totally fucked anymore._

But you're the magic man, the puppeteer, the one behind the curtains; your job is to make it seem like it never was fucked beyond your power to unfuck at the drop of a hat. So you lean back, and you steal another fry, and you give Reaux your best shiteating grin. 

"Of fuckin' course it's gonna work, sis. Wouldn't let it be any other way."


End file.
